


Square One

by RhetoricFemme



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, a very subtle time skip, time skip, warm cozy places
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 18:18:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15846756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhetoricFemme/pseuds/RhetoricFemme
Summary: Whodoesn'tneed to find solace at the end of each day?





	Square One

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> I missed my boys, and I've been inspired of late, so here's a small KyoKao story. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I savored writing! <3

The opportunity to acknowledge education outside the elitist walls of his classrooms is one of myriad differences that exist between Ootori Kyoya and his older brothers. Where Yuuichi finds comfort and success within the prescriptions of institution, Akito would swear by those same parameters and deny the notion of there being any other way.

For Kyoya, he holds tightest to the intricate, yet easy conversations he engages in with Hitachiin Kaoru.

Firm hands and gentle kisses instill in Kyoya the sort of trust necessary to open his mind in ways that his family might warn would cause his brain to fall out. Even so, he watches with fascination on the night Kaoru invites him in, the latter sighing happily for the end of another long day while stripping the clothes from his body one-by-one.

Kaoru summons the fireplace in his bedroom with the flip of a switch; smiles as the room begins to glow amber with warm, decadent flames. He beckons Kyoya over, patient as the young man he occasionally lays with looks him over with a feeling Kaoru believes they could both use more of in their lives.

It’s his guilty pleasure, Kaoru admits, although truth be told he doesn’t actually feel any guilt over lying naked in front of his bedroom fire. It’s privacy, inflection and solace in one sacred place. Kyoya gifts him a look of understanding. One of those half-grins Kaoru has been a sucker for since the beginning.

He lays down behind Kaoru, providing additional warmth while they succumb to chatter.

Kyoya keeps his clothes on for the duration of that first fireside evening. Idle hands and understanding hearts, he feels no less connected to Kaoru than their moments of unguarded exploration. They mesh over laughter and inquisition, eventually falling asleep with Kyoya’s palm against pliant skin and Kaoru nestling into the soft fleece at his back.

Most days, it feels like it takes years for the two of them to get back to this place. And occasionally it does.

Youthful indulgences transition into rarely-had succor. Hands train for the skill to keep up with creative and practical mentalities, while sentimentality quietly waits its turn in romantically lit corners of their minds.

Sometimes the elation Kyoya feels upon returning home is palpable. Scalpels and packed gauze only occasionally create bigger messes than the ones he’s left back in Tokyo. Time and again, Kyoya can be counted on to choose the clinical scent of trying to heal others’ wounds over his own, any day.

He keeps the noise of the his American city nearby, but appreciates the stifle of pedestrians and car horns that he seems only able to find from twentieth-story floors.

He’s never minded the twinkling of lights, however. A blinking palette of life and movement spread out in the panorama of his penthouse’s windows. It’s the outspoken red and amber-orange lights that Kyoya enjoys best.

They remind him of the days of unravelling self-discovery. Of brand-new solace found in the arms of a fledgling creature who would soon turn into a kind, admirable, over-sought man throughout the world.

With a heavy sigh, Kyoya turns the key and lets himself through the front door. There’s no point in turning on the lights as he peels articles of clothing away from his body. The hearth is already warm; programmed to set its blaze moments before Kyoya returns every night.

It’s a measured movement; lowering himself to the floor, his bare skin welcoming the lush warmth of a fireside rug. Unwinding slowly by the hand of an indulgence learned from the lover of his youth.

Kyoya falls asleep there, warm and cared for by a decade’s worth of collected memories as he rests on the floor.

He sleeps so well as to miss the obtrusive click of the front door. Doesn’t wake for the rustling of layers, or the old leather duffel released by exhausted fingers onto the entryway floor. He does notice when cold limbs tangle with his own; body starting at the welcome intrusion, and the blanket that Kaoru throws over them.  
  
“You’re late.”

Kaoru can’t help but giggle, humming pleasantly about layovers and snow while pressing the cold tip of his nose into the crook of his husband’s neck.

A tired groan is all he gets for his efforts, though Kaoru can hardly bring himself to complain. He’ll make it up to him in the morning, when he lets Kyoya rouse him with gentle, teasing kisses before he runs off to work.

No rest for the weary, indeed.

That doesn’t mean they won’t give fatigue a run for its money, every time.


End file.
